September 1st was an exciting day for the young people of the wizarding world, the day when they boarded the Hogwarts Express from Platform 9¾, on their way to another exciting year of learning from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Always the most excited were the first years, getting their first glimpse of the historical halls of learning, often after a lifetime of hearing stories about it's secrets and marvels from parents, relatives, and lucky older siblings who got to go there first.

Those nervous first years would be led across the lake in special boats, then brought into the Great Hall to be Sorted into their House, an exciting tradition dating back to the days of the Founders. Students hoped to be put into the Houses of their family to carry on tradition (or else as far away from their annoying older brothers or sisters as possible) and to be granted a place to finally fit in.

As usual, when the first years were lined up on the wall waiting, there was the inevitable whispering. What if we're not in the same House? What if we don't make any friends? What if, what if?

"What if we don't get sorted at all?" one whispered to his best friend.

"Naw, that doesn't happen," his friend whispered back. "My mum said so."

One of the plants along the wall shivered, and then came alive- it was Nawrocki, the lovable talking plannimal with a charming face and a winning personality, even if he was as slick as a used broomstick salesman. The kids gasped in surprise. Gasp!

"Well, far be it from me to go against your mum," he said. "Far far far far be it. But it just- so- happens that it does, from time to time, turn out that someone just isn't to be sorted."

"No way."

"Yeah way." Nawrocki looked left, then right, and called the first years closest to him in a huddle. "It happened once that this girl, who came from a totally Muggle family, she showed magic powers from an early age, right? Of course that's enough to get your name down on the list from birth as long as Dumbledore's the headmaster, yeah? So, eager as you please, she boards the Hogwarts Express on the first of September, just like you- and you- and probably you," he added, pointing to a kid a few heads down the line. The kid scratched the back of his head (he wasn't actually listening to Nawrocki.)

"So, anyway," Nawrocki continued, "she's all eager, and bright-eyed bushy-tailed, and she gets in line. Then, they finally get down to her, and they call her name, it booms all over the Great Hall. She trots down to that stool, just like everyone else, and puts the hat on..."

"So? What happened?" "What'd it say?" "What happened?"

"The hat said, loud enough for the whole room to hear, 'I am not meant to sort this one.' And it went silent until it was put on the next head. Just like that, she was left sitting red-faced on the stool, with nowhere to go.

"Well, the teachers didn't know what to do- they hadn't seen anything like this before. But Dumbledore, being just the kind of guy he is, announced that anyone with magical talent was welcome in Hogwarts. No exceptions."

"That can't be true," said a boy. "If she didn't have a House, where did she live? Where did she go to class?"

"That's the real tragedy of it." Nawrocki shook his head and made a tsk-tsk noise with his tongue. "She had to get her education on the fringes. Sleeping in a tent on the grounds near the gamekeeper's hut, sitting in the back of a classroom with an extra seat... and that's not the worst of it."

The kids leaned in closer, eager to get more of this juicy story.

"Ever since she got to school, she was cursed. She never made it past second year, in a twelve-year-old body. But her brain grew up to be a young woman, twenty-one at least. Her skin went blanche, pure white, from all the stress even though her hair and eyes were still pigmented. She was always stuck on the fringes- she couldn't even wear the school uniform, not being a real student. She was like a ghost, only worse, because she knew it was possible to break out of that prison, but every day she tried to become something and every day was the same. It was like Hell, where they can look and see God in Heaven turning his head away... and worst of all, no one knows why.

"And you want to know the scariest part?" Nawrocki finished in a low whisper.

The kids leaned in, eyes widened.

"The absolute scariest part... is that she's right over there!"

He pointed to a figure on the far wall of the Great Hall, and the first years screamed. Some of them tried to scatter, and others hid behind taller ones. Professor McGonagall had to step forward and bring order back to the group.

Nawrocki slunk off along the wall to the figure he had pointed at, who was leaning against the wall, hands behind her and one foot against the stone. She looked just as he described, white skin, brown eyes, dirty blonde hair. She also had a pair of thin silver glasses and was wearing a black knit shirt and leggings, which blended in poorly with the uniforms except for the fact that they were black.

"Do you have to do that every goddamn year?" she asked.

"It's my favorite part of the night," Nawrocki replied, grinning as wide as he could.

She shook her head, and then reached down and pat him on the head. His big, bushy leaf-ponytail sagged under her touch, but he squinted his eyes and leaned up into the touch.

"Stuff some dinner into a bag or something for me," she said, "and then we'll meet out at the tent."

Allie was her name, by the way- and she lived by herself in a magical tent that transformed into a studio apartment. A double bed, a dresser, a couch and end table, a fireplace, a closet, and a bathroom down the hall made it a cozy living space. "Better than I'd get up in the common rooms, really," she said. "Spacious and all to myself. Up there I'd be cramped. Worse, I'd always be self-conscious, you know, that my shifting is waking other people up or that I'd be stepping on other people's toes."

But she didn't deny that it was very lonely down there. It wasn't just the isolation, but also the validation of being sorted that she longed for. It would be nice for some external force to confirm that yes, she was brave, or intelligent, or ambitious, or whatever the hell Hufflepuffs are supposed to be. Instead, she was in a tent all by herself, night after night, with no one but her bonded partner Nawrocki to talk to. And it's no fun talking to him all the time. He had a bit of an attitude and a very self-centered personality. Not to mention that, as a bonded pair, they had to spend almost all of their time together and could read each others minds; as a result, they were sick of each other.

But every day she worked to lift the curse, and maybe one of these dang ol' days, it would take.

She snuggled into her bed that night, thinking about tomorrow. There should be a spot in the first Potions class, although Professor Snape didn't take too well to her just showing up and trying to throw a potion together. Maybe she could go to Herbology if he was in a particularly foul mood. Professor Sprout never minded her, and seemed to enjoy her company to the extent that anyone could enjoy her company.